


Splinters of memory

by FhimeChan



Series: Spring Prompts 2k18 [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood is metaphorical but copious, M/M, Mentions of Misha, Mind Palace, Scars, so many metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 22:39:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14579145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FhimeChan/pseuds/FhimeChan
Summary: After the fall Hannibal lives in his mind palace, denying his whole relationship with Will.





	Splinters of memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/gifts).



> Thank you for the prompt!!  
> I apologise for not following it closely. I tried thrice but it kept going in unexpected directions… I picked the attempt I liked most, and I hope it’s good!

It is almost 7:30. A sense of anticipation fills Hannibal, sudden and irrational, as he copies his notes by the light of the fire. A magnetic force takes hold of his gaze and fixates it on the empty leather chair across the office, then on the ladder. He is not expecting anyone.

He goes back to his notes. The handwritten words curve in front of his eyes, impossible to read; he cannot remember the patients he took them for. 

Maybe he is more tired than he had anticipated. 

He keeps writing, dutifully chasing the shapes of the words, reproducing more and more pointless scrawls on the page.

He raises his gaze to the clock as a half hour ticks by. 

The window slams open. A cold wind advances in the office, moving the curtains, caressing the shelves, extinguishing the fire. It picks a book, throws it onto Hannibal’s desk. It opens on a sketch. 

La Primavera. 

Hannibal cannot breathe. His lungs burn, his mouth is cold and salty. His ears ring with the force of few words.

“...I would remember this time…”

Hannibal twitches in pain, slamming his arm on his desk. The book falls to the floor and closes. 

Everything stops. 

Hannibal looks at his notes in disarray, at the trail of destruction left by the wind. 

He closes the window and goes home. 

* * *

Dancing through the kitchen Hannibal cuts, flips, mixes, drowning the previous tension in the familiar tasks. He lists his ingredients, adjusting them into their proper positions over the counter. Arugula, pomegranates, liver, Chianti…

Taken by a whim, he shapes the tomatoes into small roses. He frowns, remembering how Alana dumped carrots on his last creation. She did not understand…

The knife slips, cutting the tip of his finger. Blood drips on the blade and falls on the tomatoes. Instead of coagulating, it flows stronger.

Hannibal drops the knife. When it clinks on the counter, the walls of his kitchen crack. He coughs, accidentally smearing blood on his side. It drips on the floor, slippery under his shoes. 

Hannibal coughs again, gripping the counter for balance. As moonlight filters from the cracks in the walls, the black stain in his side reaches his skin. The epidermis tears at the touch and more blood gushes from it, splashing over the broken kitchen tiles. 

The breeze carries a whisper to his ears, “It really does look black in the moonlight.”

Breathing through the sudden ache in his chest is impossible. Ear-splitting footsteps echo from the place where the door is miraculously still intact. It trembles under the assault. 

Before it opens, Hannibal closes his eyes, and the ruins of the kitchen are gone. 

* * *

Misha laughs at him in the middle of the storm, throwing a snowball which is lost to the cold wind. It is okay. Winter is supposed to feel cold and windy. 

As Hannibal is supposed to feel tired, because he is running. He is chasing his beloved sister, who he will protect from anyone. He catches her, smiles at her, hugs her, whispers nonsense to her.

She pushes away and looks at him with blue eyes. 

“Hannibal…”

Her voice is that of a man’s, but it is okay, because it is winter and there are weird echoes in the snowstorm, and she is his sweet little sister anyway, his treasure…

“Hannibal.”

The white snowball in her hands blurs, transforming into a delicate teacup. 

“Misha, my Misha. Are we playing pretend, let’s play pretend, darling…”

“Hannibal.” She raises one hand, and he must be quiet. “Misha is gone. You know it.”   
Hannibal falls on his knees in front of her. “What are you saying, Misha? Let’s play, my dear sister…”   
Her gaze pierces him. “Misha is gone. I’m not. Hannibal. Please.”

She lets the teacup fall. The whole world cracks and shatters at the impact.

* * *

The scattered fragments rebuilds into a cliff. A man takes Misha’s place. 

“Hannibal.”

He swallows. “Will.”

A red line appears on Will’s forehead. “I chased you for days.”

Hannibal feels a matching mark on his back. He stumbles. “You tried to kill me. Us.”

Will keeps Hannibal in place with eyes equally cruel and kind. The wind screams around them. “Endings and beginnings require pain.” He smiles, as the left corner of his mouth deforms into an ugly cut. “Our scars will bring us together. You know it.”

Hannibal’s head is light. “What… What will be... waiting for us?”

Will extends his hand. “The inevitable.”

Hannibal surrenders. The wind takes hold of them, binding them, tipping them over the edge. The world erodes wave after wave, taking the pain away.

In the liminal darkness between this world and the promise of a future one, Will smiles at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story! :)  
> Otherwise I’m open to criticism.  
> I've other three prompts, which I plan to update on the remaining Tuesdays of May - if I finish in time.
> 
>  **About the series.**  
>  Spring prompts 2k18 is a result of [this post](https://fhimechan.tumblr.com/post/171726266167/leave-me-a-prompt-d); it's both a thank you initiative and a challenge to write out of my comfort zone.  
> Thank you to anyone involved, especially @j9-j9 who beta'ed everything in spite of my increasingly frantic messages.


End file.
